


Alban the Necromancer

by AsherHaunts



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Innistrad, ongoing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5792953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsherHaunts/pseuds/AsherHaunts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow the young necro-alchemist Alban on the shadowy world of Innistrad as he confronts, and creates, what goes bump in the night. Set several years before the beginning of Avacyn's disappearance prior to "Innistrad Block". Ongoing updates as I have time!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alban the Necromancer

The light of the rising Harvest Moon crested the treetops of the Morkrut swamp. It was mid-autumn and the nights grew long. The sounds of night were everywhere, between the insects and frogs, or the keen of a night bird, the dark brought not the gentle quiet of sleep, but instead an awakening of all manner of animal. There was a stirring of the water as something breached into the damp air; a mass of twisted stitched flesh plodding along on three thin limbs. Its bulk hulked through the shallows sending little waves lapping against the shore.

The zombie raised its head to scent at the air before continuing to patrol. Beyond it there was a shadowed manor. Nestled on a scarce bit of dry land it lay, lit from within, and concealed by towering cedars and surrounded by a fence- low-slung and weathered to rust. It seemed ominous sitting there in the swamp and a half day's walk from any village but otherwise is built in a normal style. The half-timbered walls ascended white from the high foundation meeting in several high arched gables and an observation tower. It seemed unusual, if only for its location- made perhaps by some eccentric and wealthy hermit, one who does not give enough heed to the dangers of the woods- and yet seems like this is where it would belong, where it has always been, slumping darkly in the damp.

Despite the hour the inhabitants have only just begun supper. Alban always enjoyed dinners- the opportunity to see master Marko without the goggles and breathing mask he wore in the lab, a time to relax and enjoy good food with family. Dinner was a great time to chat or tell a joke, maybe share a laugh that wasn’t maniacal for a change. Of course, this was assuming Marko had a non-maniacal laugh, Alban was pretty sure he didn’t.

Alban finished his food shortly after Marko, and followed him into the family room. As he was crossing the doorway, the homunculus leap onto the table. Four hunched bodies landed with thumps on the lacquered wood. They tore at the scraps of mutton that neither Alban nor Marko had eaten. After they had finished the leftovers they would clean the dishes and tidy up. The little blue creatures had been a constant around the house since Alban was a child, taking care of menial chores like cleaning or fetching grey matter. Alchemists, and occasionally the more scientifically inclined necromancers, made the little creatures. Their rather low intelligence, and meek disposition made them cheap and serviceable assistants. Unfortunately, their bodies tend to break down over time ensuring that no homunculus lived very long. The young mage sighed, the one homunculus's skin was slipping- it would need to be replaced soon.

A fire burned in the hearth, throwing warm oranges and reds against the dark wood of the family room. Despite this it was still gloomy. Jagged shadows stretched and flickered across the room from the uneven lightning. Alban was just considering calling a homunculus to light the lamps when he saw a figure move from the window. Marko stepped into view. He was a tall man with a distinguished face, gradually greying dark hair swept messily to one side. There was once a time when Alban was frightened by the electric glint in his master’s eyes, a spark of madness maybe, but the years had dulled that instinct. These days Alban was more concerned Marko didn’t seem to sleep enough.

His master gave him a sudden smile before he spoke:

“I need you to go into Havengul. I’ll give you some extra money for the city too, if you want.”

“What metzalar has conned you of coin this time Marko?”

"Our usual shop. The homunculus is spoiling and the slurry valve is busted."

The valve was a specialty part , but Havengul had a special penchant for having material relevant to their... profession. Homunculus crafting can be done by hand but that's such an annoying process people only ever use the machine. The slurry valve wasn't especially expensive but, it wouldn't be possible to run through the creation process without it. Alban found that a little annoying, not that there was anything to really be done about it. At least it was an excuse to visit Havengul.

Havengul was the largest city in Nephalia, a titan of commerce and a beacon of culture. For a specialty part like the valve for the homunculus machine they would need to go to a bigger city. Havengul had a reputation to catering toward the needs of their... profession. When he was younger Marko always accompanied him to the big cities. Alban treasured the trips, valuing the hustle of city life to contrast their rather remote home life. Havengul was a dangerous place filled with cutpurses and necromancers ready to slide a blade into his ribs, rob him, and sell off his corpse. Of course, Havengul is still dangerous like that, but these days Alban was just as bad. He had visited Havengul a few times alone since then, and frequently ran errands in the nearby town of Selhoff, but still the prospect had him jittery with anticipation- especially with spending money.

By the time Alban responded he was already making a mental shopping list.

“I’ll leave first thing tomorrow then”


End file.
